Jack
by Arachne Rose
Summary: A college student obsessed with the Joker finds him asleep in her bed one day, beginning a chain of events which will lead her to the brink of insanity.
1. Chapter 1

So, obviously I don't own the Joker or anything, and I don't honestly expect anyone to read or enjoy this. I'm not trying to create art; I'm just amusing myself. If I don't stay true to the character, so be it. I'm not interested in constructive criticism. That said, if you like it, feel free to review or comment or whatever. K, bye 3

When I got back to my dorm room after my English class, the last thing I expected was to find someone sleeping in my bed, but there he was. A skinny mound of man with my sheets pulled all the way up so that all that was visible was some bright green hair. After I stood staring for a few seconds, I walked over to my bed and pushed the motionless figure.

"Hey, what's the idea? Get up and get out," I said. I heard what sounded like laughing from under the sheets. "You think this is funny?" I asked, "Get up." I yanked down the sheets and was shocked by what I saw. The Joker, Gotham's most wanted, peered up at me through parted fingers, laughing to himself. Then he covered his eyes again and rolled over.

"Turn off the lights, would you darling?" he asked, his voice muffled by my pillow. I stood frozen in shock, waiting to feel the terror that I knew I should. The facts simply would not register.

"You. What…what are you doing in my bed?" I asked. He turned back over and propped himself up, pulling the covers up with him and holding them to his neck.

"Well see, hehe, I was just poking around in this dormitory and when I found your room I decided I'd wandered into friendly territory," he said.

I swallowed, and attempting to be rational I asked him, "And how's that?"

"I found your little diary," he said, looking down at the floor. I noticed for the first time what else was amiss in the room. A usually well-hidden scrapbook lay open on the floor, the scrapbook I had filled with pictures and newspaper clippings, all detailing the criminal known as the Joker. I turned pale and stammered, searching for an answer.

"It's okay, pumpkin, I'm not mad. I'm flattered, to be honest. I never thought little old me would have a fan club. Now if you don't mind, I'm a little bit tired. I'm going back to sleep," he said. He rolled back onto his stomach again. When I was reasonably certain he was actually asleep, I picked up my scrapbook and put it carefully back into place.

For a long time I just stood there watching him sleep. He looked so peaceful. I was having a hard time reconciling this sleeping man with the Joker I had read so much about. I carefully examined his face, committing to memory every curve and every little scar. His skin was the palest I had ever seen, but it wasn't the paper-white shade I had expected. His lips, chapped and full, were red, but not in a way that seemed overly unnatural. I thought about how memory can be deceiving, and little details can become blown out of proportion, which accounted for the eyewitness accounts which I now knew exaggerated his features. However, I couldn't understand why the pictures I had seen were so deceiving. Maybe I had only been seeing what I had expected to see. I was extremely tempted to take a picture of him then, in all his vulnerable beauty. I couldn't bring myself to do it. It would have felt like I was taking advantage of him in his time of need.

The hard part was not explaining to myself why I was sheltering him. I had long known that it was only a matter of time until my obsession led to more dangerous activities than scrapbooking. The hard part was convincing my roommate when she returned that the figure asleep in my bed was anyone but who he really was.

"Calm down, Brit. Let him sleep. He's just a friend who got exiled from his room because his roomie is having sex," I explained.

"Amber, he has green hair!" she exclaimed.

"I know him, it's just Jack. He's just a punk who's not from Gotham and didn't realize that green was such a touchy hair color here. Please, just calm down and study or something. He won't be here for long," I said. Looking only slightly more convinced, Britney muttered something about meeting up with friends and left. I didn't bother pointing out that she had only just gotten back to the room. As soon as the door slammed shut "Jack" began laughing.

"How long have you been awake?" I asked.

"Just long enough to hear your little lie. Hehe, I've been called many things, but punk is a new one," he murmured.

"Well," I sighed, throwing my hands in the air. I wasn't sure whether to be irritated or pleased. He sat up again suddenly and stared at me intensely, causing me to blush. It only got worse when I noticed for the first time that he wasn't wearing a shirt.

"Why did you call me Jack?" he asked.

"I don't know, it's just a name I like," I told him. This sent him into a loud fit of laughter that I didn't understand, but I felt strangely proud for causing it. Someone in the dorm next door pounded on the wall and yelled at him to shut up, which only made him laugh harder. It was only when he stopped that I realized I'd been laughing with him. He was staring again and I stood in silence, noticing the bruises and shallow cuts all over his pale skin.

"Did Bats do that?" I asked. He pounced up from the bed. I was relieved to see he was still wearing his pants, although they were slashed and in need of replacement. He walked towards me so quickly I stumbled backwards in surprise. I was up against a wall when he pulled out the knife. I didn't see it before I felt it on my neck.

"Don't call him that," he commanded.

"Yes, sir," I whispered. He looked into my eyes for a moment and then he was laughing again. He walked over to my closet and pulled it open, knife still open and shining in his hand. He glanced over my clothes and grabbed an oversized shirt that I usually wore as pajamas. He threw it on and stormed out the door. As soon as he was gone, I missed him, almost unaware of the fact that he had basically threatened my life. I hoped that I hadn't annoyed him too much, and that if he needed a place to crash again, he would return.


	2. Chapter 2

I spent the next several days checking the newspaper even more religiously than usual, sure that whatever he had been doing to gain those injuries would be newsworthy. I was reading my issue of the Gotham Gazette in the school cafeteria when I saw it on the front page. The carousel in the park had been tampered with, each horse modified to sport a red-lipped grin. Afraid of further problems, Gotham PD had blockaded the area and then turned on the ride. For a few rotations it seemed normal, but then the crime became apparent. It had been rigged to increase in speed until reaching a neck-breaking velocity - and then it had exploded. My laughter attracted the attention of virtually everyone in the room. I held the paper up higher to hide my blush and read on. The vigilante known as Batman had been at the scene and then left in search of The Joker. Sources indicated that Batman had confronted the Joker, but the following brawl had ended in the Joker's escape.

I thought of the children who could have been killed on the ride if the police had not noticed the tell-tale smiles. Immediately I knew that the incident had gone according to plan. The Joker could just have easily made the ride dangerous without the warning sign. Maybe it was just my obsession speaking, but I didn't think that the Joker had it in him to kill kids. It wasn't that they were innocent. The Joker didn't care about things like sin, or good and evil. He cared about order vs. chaos, and the choices that every person made. Adults were old enough to have chosen their fights, but children were little more than the petted or battered tools of their parents. They couldn't help the kind of life they led.

The rest of the day went rather normally. When Britney was out I carefully clipped the day's article and filed it into my beloved scrapbook before recycling the remainder of the paper. Britney wasn't the brightest tool in the shed, but even she would notice if a newspaper was lying around with a big hole in it. While she was still out, I turned through the old pages. He'd committed plenty of murders, tons of kidnappings, more explosions than I could count, and even more random and seemingly pointless mischief. He'd kidnapped children before, but none of them had ever been killed. I put my notebook away, did a little studying, and went to bed.

It was about halfway through the night when I woke up. Some unexpected sound had disturbed my sleep. I felt a presence in the room, as if someone was watching me. I couldn't tell if the quiet breathing I heard was just Britney's, or if someone else was in the room. Suddenly my back was greeted with a lifted blanket, cold air, and then cold skin, pressed close against me. An equally frigid hand covered my mouth, quieting my small squeak of surprise.

"Hello Amber," he whispered. His warm breath against my skin caused me to shiver. He felt it and asked, "Did I frighten you?"

"No," I whispered, "What are you doing shirtless in January? You'll catch your death." He started laughing loudly, shaking the bed and causing Britney to roll over. I'd never been so glad that she was a deep sleeper.

"That's a good one. You're worried I'll get sick? Remember who I am for a second, honey. Death and I? We're old pals," he said. I shivered again.

"Am I really that cold? Or do you just enjoy the sound of my voice that much?" he asked. He pressed closer against me and pressed his face into my neck. I bit my lip to avoid making any sounds. I didn't want him to know how much of an effect he had on me. His laughter this time was unusually quiet for him. "Goodnight pumpkin," he said. I was awake for a long time after that, especially as his arm wrapped around my waist and held me. I told myself over and over that he was just warming himself up. Despite his laughter, I was sure he knew as well as I did the danger he was in if he didn't warm up soon.

I couldn't help but wonder why he trusted me so much. As far as I knew, finding that scrapbook had been the only evidence he'd gone off of to determine it was safe to trust his life with me. For all he knew, I could have been researching him in an attempt to bring him down. Yet here he was, sleeping in my bed, cradling me in his arms like a beloved pet. Why had he returned? Surely he had another hideout; it had been several days since he had last visited. Why was it me that he was holding tonight instead of his Harley Quinn? Maybe the rumors were true, and she had really been killed in the Gotham General explosion he had been responsible for a few months ago. Or maybe he just preferred me. No, that was crazy. Wherever he had been tonight, my dorm room had been closer than whatever lair he had claimed. When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed of him, and of causing mayhem by his side.

When I woke up, he was gone, but he'd left something behind. I didn't notice until I'd gotten up and it fell silently to the floor. A joker card smiled up at me from the thin carpet. I grinned and got out my scrapbook, gently putting it away. I got ready and went down to the common room of the dormitories. A newspaper dispenser gave me what I was seeking for a few coins. Nothing yet, although I could hardly expect them to be that fast. Depending on what he had been up to, they may have not even noticed yet. Perhaps he hadn't done anything at all. It hadn't been long since his last big spectacle, and he had been known to lie low for months at a time. I wondered how many times he would show up in my bed before disappearing from my life altogether. For all I knew, the calling card he had left me had been his way of saying goodbye. I decided that I absolutely had to do something to prove to him I could be more than a warm bed. Crazy ideas filled my head as I made my plans.


	3. Chapter 3

I had to find a symbol. Since my main motivation was to be of use to the Joker, it only made since that I look to a deck of cards for inspiration. Of course I couldn't just be another joker card; Harley Quinn had already worked that angle. I wouldn't choose a random number card, leaving the face cards, and I felt like calling myself an Ace when I had no experience in crime was arrogant and silly. So I had four Queens to choose from, assuming I didn't want to cross-dress. The Queen of Hearts seemed obvious, since my goal (whether I fully admitted it to myself or not) was to win the heart of the Joker. I pondered this as I stared into the bathroom mirror. I couldn't muster enough self-confidence to choose a symbol so suggestive of charm and beauty. Spade and club were promising, however they each suggested a signature weapon – a suggestion I did not wish to fulfill. So I would be the Queen of Diamonds. My signature calling card would be simple enough. Along with the named card, a sprinkle of silver glitter in the presence of whatever act I accomplished.

I didn't own a deck of cards or glitter, and it seemed counterproductive to my rise to crime to simply go out and buy them. I decided to start my criminal mischief small. The next time Britney had a class I went into her deck of cards and took the only one I needed. Easy. I happened to have an Art elective so the next time I had an excuse to rummage through the supplies closet, I pocketed a small tub of glitter. I'd always thought that the later years of college had their perks, but for once a G.E. class had produced something useful to my future. Feeling clever, I returned to my dorm.

Halloween had always been my favorite holiday, and I was a bit of a packrat. I dug out my costume makeup. Various colors of greasepaint and face crayons presented themselves to my eager eyes. I could wear practically anything, as long as my face was disguised. I didn't want to use a black face mask style like Harley Quinn. I wanted to be as unlike her as possible. Considering I was choosing a red face card, I'd have to use one of her colors, but I wouldn't combine it with black. I thought of the Joker's signature colors – green and purple. If I got in deep, I could dye my hair to match his, and there was my second color. But then I would look like Christmas. Red and purple it was.

I sketched out my makeup design before trying it. First, I would apply a coat of white to imitate the Joker's fair skin. Then I would use purple as an eye shadow, and to line my eyes. I'd keep it simple. One red card-style diamond on my right cheek, and for good measure, I would press glitter into the shape. I stared at the empty, white lips of my drawing. Should I use red to match the Joker's smile? Was purple too much like Harley Quinn's black lipstick? I left them white. Drawing attention to my lips wasn't going to help me. The Joker already had a lover, I was just the minion. The more I disappeared the better, I just knew I had to see him again.

I almost wanted him to show up again before I dived in and committed a crime worthy of his attention. I stalled for a few days, but there was no sign of him. Meanwhile I thought long and hard about what I needed to do. It had to be something on the open street, something spontaneous. Anything that involved breaking into a secure location required skills and expertise that I did not have. All I had was my idea, a knife once purchased on a whim, and determination. So the first thing I did was a non-event. I started taking walks in the dark of night, in an old dress and my makeup, waiting for opportunity to strike.

I wasn't the only one out. Dodging into shadows, I watched people passing by. Most of them were perfectly normal looking people, roaming the night despite how dangerous Gotham was. Perhaps they were as far gone as I was, but lacking a muse. Just wandering around, waiting for a strange new phase in their lives. This thought gave me a wicked idea. The next night, the first person who walked in my direction was a girl about my age. I put out a foot when she was close, causing her to stumble and land on her knees. I came up behind her quickly, putting my knife to her neck.

"Don't be scared, little dove" I whispered, "I'm a friend."

"Somehow I doubt that," she said, "You can have my wallet, just let me stand up so I can get it out of my pocket."

I made a tsking sound and told her, "I'm not interested in cash or credit. Do you have any jewelry?"

Surprised, she dared to glance back at me, catching sight of my makeup for the first time, "No I don't."

"I'll bet you know someone who does, though. Someone you don't like very much?" I asked. I grinned and she smiled back, seeming intrigued by the suggestion.

"Yea, so what?" she asked. I lifted my knife away from her and made my proposition.

"Bring it back to me, here, two nights from now. I give you permission. Leave them my card," I offered, pulling my first and only Queen of Diamonds out of my pocket. I had taken the time to cover the back of the card with silver glitter, obscuring the original backing.

"Okay," said the girl. She took my card and scampered away into the night.

She did return at the time I'd suggested, bringing me a beautiful pearl necklace with a devilish smile. I thanked her and then asked, "Are you satisfied? Or would you like another task?" Somehow I knew she would say yes. In only one more night, she brought me back five decks of cards and a huge tub of silver glitter.

I kept the racket going, cornering lost souls in the night and having them bring me things. Jewelry, supplies for my calling cards, and sometimes I kept it open ended. Sometimes I only asked for souvenirs. The things I got in return were a source of never-ending amusement. Articles of clothing, food items, toys and trinkets, and once I even received a table lamp. And in return, my little darlings always left a Queen of Diamonds card, sparkling and mocking, in the place of the stolen item. Of course, I didn't keep any of these things. At first I just threw them away, no matter how valuable. I had no idea of how to fence them, and money wasn't the object. Chaos was. Chaos and notoriety.

I got both. Although the newspaper still said nothing of my beloved inspiration, my thefts were getting noticed. Of course, they thought it was me that was breaking into all these houses and, I learned, sometimes offices, and taking things away with no apparent rational. They'd gotten the hint, and called me, "the thief known as the Queen of Diamonds," giving into my nickname and yet maintaining their dignity. Now I was right up there with, "the vigilante known as the Batman" and "the criminal known as the Joker." Now that I was making the news, I knew it was only a matter of time until the Joker guessed who was behind it and came calling. Or at least, so I hoped.


	4. Chapter 4

I read my first newspaper article at roughly nine in the morning. When I returned to my dorm room from a class at about two in the afternoon, he was waiting for me, sitting cross-legged in bed and playing with his knife.

"Are you keeping the things you take?" he asked.

"No, I'm tossing them," I said. I wanted to run over and sit beside him, but I just stood frozen by the door.

"And why is that? Is it because you think that's what I would want?" he asked. He looked up at me from his knife with a grin.

"No," I said, "The actual thefts are to get your attention, but that's not why I'm throwing things away. I'm throwing them out because I don't want the money and that isn't the point anyway. It's about how random the thefts are. It's about confusing the idiots and inspiring all the people just like you and I, who appreciate the fact that anything is viable in this crazy world." I was expecting him to laugh. Or grin. Or treat me like an idiot for pretending I was anything like him. Or maybe even threaten me again. Instead, he stared at me, thinking, and then offered me some advice.

"Casual observers probably think you're just selling the stuff," he said, "If you want them to get the joke, start leaving it in public places." Then he smiled, and said something else I wasn't expecting, "I'm proud of you." I blushed deeply, and it was my turn to grin. I dared to slowly walk over and stand beside him.

"I thought you'd stop coming," I admitted, "That's why I started."

"I know. So what if I said I'd keep coming, would you stop?" he watched my face intently as I thought about it.

"No," I said, "My little doves would miss me. I can't let them down." He stared at me, incomprehension on his face. Then he started laughing.

"You're…hehehe…you're sending people out to…haha. You're not stealing the things yourself at all! You're telling other people to do it! And they listen! They listen and they bring you…" he was cracking up, rolling around on the bed. He had dropped his knife and I picked it up, worried that he'd roll on to it and cut himself. He went into the kind of silent laughter you reach when you no longer have enough breath in you to produce a sound, clutching his sides with his darling, manic grin lighting up his face. I grinned back and when he finally calmed down he said, "That's a great joke." I was on top of the world. In all my daydreams, I'd never imagined him saying that to me. I'd thought of myself as a plaything, a pet, like his Harley, tolerated. I was sure when he looked at me next he could see the surprise and joy radiating from my face.

Then he reached out and snatched his knife back, accidently cutting my hand in the process. Or maybe not accidently, I couldn't tell. I flinched, more out of surprise than real pain and he said, "You couldn't kill, I can tell. It sounds like you're doing these things out of affection for your victims. You want to surprise them; you want to make them laugh. Believe me, they aren't laughing. They don't get it. I'm laughing because you and I, I think we can understand each other. In your wide-eyed innocence you think that if you just wake them up, they'll understand. They won't. They never will. The people who've had things disappear, they're terrified. They're expecting you to show back up and slit their throats in the dead of night. I wouldn't be surprised if they move, or change the locks."

I shook my head and said, "Listen, I don't give a shit if they're scared. It's not about them. It's about my real thieves, my night-walkers, who understand for a minute the thrill of laughing in the face of convention. It's about the guy who I told to steal something, and in his brilliance he brought me a cheap table lamp, because he understood just as well as you do." Before I had met the Joker, I'd thought of him in crime mode. I'd thought of him blowing things up, with a knife and blood and his insane laughter. I had never once imagined him as he sat now, nodding, quietly considering what I'd said with a serious face, as if I was his equal. As if we were just two normal people having a conversation about philosophy. I could be having this conversation with almost anyone, but then again I couldn't. No one else would understand.

In the silence that followed, I looked into the Joker's eyes and I saw a lonely man who hadn't had a normal conversation with someone in a long time. Then I realized my hand was still bleeding, and I went to my closet and pulled out an old t-shirt. I took my scissors from my desk and cut a bandage, wrapping it around my hand and tying it off. He sat watching me until I was done.

"You should probably disinfect that," he said, "This isn't the cleanest knife." I laughed at him. Laughed long and hard, so that my poor tortured neighbor pounded on the wall and told me to shut up, just like he'd told the Joker before.

He smiled and me and when I stopped I said, "You may be old pals with death, babydoll, but me? I've never met him, but you know, I spend every day just dying to."

"Nice pun," he said with a smirk.

"Thanks," I said.

"What are you doing for the rest of your life?" he asked.

Lost in the moment, I didn't even process what he'd said. I just said, "I just told you. I'm laughing my way to the grave so I can meet that dear old friend of yours."

"No, let's be serious for a minute," he said. I laughed again but when he didn't crack a smile, I listened. "If the Gotham Gazette has caught onto your game, so has Batman. You've got some style, but you have no experience. The Batman will catch you, and he won't kill you. He won't even hurt you, since I doubt you would be able to put up a fight. He's just drag you to jail, and you won't get off for insanity like me. You won't really need to, of course, they won't hang you for petty theft, but if you survive lockup with the scum of Gotham then your life as you know it will be over, and this little game you're playing will have ruined any chance you had of normality."

I nodded and said, "You want me to stop." Sorrow washed over me. He'd laughed at my little joke, but now it was time to tell the kid what was up. I'd probably never see him again. His original encouragement had been out of admiration, but now he realized I needed to wise up. I wasn't really like him at all.

He grinned and said, "Hell no. You're just getting started. I want you to come live with me."


	5. Chapter 5

We couldn't exactly hire a moving truck. He told me to pack very little, and gave me instructions on how to reach his hideout. I would leave after dark. He left, and I could barely contain my excitement for the rest of the afternoon and early evening. I prepared my bag while Britney was still out and hid it beneath my bed so that I could grab it and go when it was time. When it was time, I left my calling card on the bed. Perhaps Britney would think I had been kidnapped, although I didn't really care what she thought at this point.

I wanted to take this trek in my makeup for symbolic purposes, but reasoned that I would be a lot less noticeable if I was just a woman with a small bag. As I walked, I noticed a girl, the one who had brought me the pearl necklace, spray painting a wall. I looked closer and saw what it was she was marking the building with. A red Q, and then a diamond, my symbol. I suppressed a grin as she noticed someone observing her and disappeared into the shadows. She didn't recognize me without my makeup.

When I finally reached his place, I was overwhelmed by its gritty beauty. It was just a run-down house in an old neighborhood, but its disrepair told a story of a life. There was a broken lock on the gate that had been opened and closed too many times, sagging steps walked up and down too often, and a faded door that had seen too much sunlight. Leaning over in the shadows, the house already felt like a home. I opened the door and dropped my bad loudly on the hall floor to announce my presence. I couldn't see any furniture in what I guessed had once been the living room, and the other room which might have been a dining room was also empty. The visible kitchen seemed to have a small stove. I heard footsteps and he appeared around the corner, grinning of course.

"Come on, come on," he said, "You're not sleeping on the threshold!" He disappeared around the corner and I picked up my bag and followed. We went through the little, working-but-dirty kitchen and he opened a door for me, gesturing me through. It was like stepping down the rabbit hole. We went from an abandoned house to the home of the Joker. Random objects hung from the ceiling and layers and layers of rugs and blankets carpeted the floor. The dim lighting glinted off the sequins and pieces of mirror that seemed to be glued in random places on every wall and every piece of furniture. There were three tables, a huge cabinet with a few drawers halfway pulled out, and rather than a mattress the bed appeared to be just a higher pile of blankets and pillows. Every table was covered with papers, and one had a precariously balanced stack of colorful plates. A single mug lay abandoned in the corner. Then of course random knives glinted among the soft layers.

"Welcome home," he said. I smiled at him as he explained, "We have to stay in the basement as much as possible, because movement upstairs might get noticed. Moving isn't impossible, it's just annoying."

"It's beautiful," I said. He laughed in his way for a long time, shaking his head. "No," I said, "I mean it. I love it."

He stopped and then walked over to me. He took my bag and sat cross-legged immediately in front of me, then opened up my bag and started going through it. I watched as he flung articles of clothing over his shoulder. Then he took the two books I'd brought and flipped through them, watching to see if anything fell out. He chucked them, too, and kept looking. I retrieved the books and put them on top of the chest of drawers. When I turned back around, he was wearing my hat and holding my jewelry box up, askance.

"I thought you weren't keeping anything from your doves?" he asked.

"I'm not! I'm perfectly capable of owning nice things in a legitimate way," I said, "Just please don't throw my jewelry." He opened the box slowly, with mock caution, watching my reaction. I just laughed and went back over to him, sitting down next to him.

He opened my locket and asked, "Your parents?" I nodded. "What happened to them?"

"Nothing. They live in Connecticut," I said.

He looked bewildered and asked, "So what's your story then?"

"I don't have one," I said, "I don't have a "one bad day" tale like the ones you feed your doctors at Arkham. It's possible for someone to be totally sane and reach the same conclusions as you. In fact, I don't think you're crazy at all." That made him laugh harder than ever. He walked away from me, and then flopped onto the "bed" on the other side of the room. I stood there awkwardly, wondering where I was supposed to sleep, but then he motioned me over.

"Don't be shy," he said, patting the spot next to him.

"Oh, okay, um, just a second," I said. I retrieved my pajamas from where they had landed during his search of my bag. I glanced at the stairs and asked, "Is the bathroom up there?"

"Yes, but you can change in here. I won't peek," he said, covering his eyes.

I turned away from him and stripped down to my underwear, carefully hiding my bra under my other clothes, and then I changed into my sweats and an old t-shirt. When I looked back at the Joker he had changed into just his boxers and was watching me. He grinned at my shocked expression and said, "Not bad." I blushed deeply and walked over to the bed, lying down as far from him as possible without falling off. "No," he said. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me towards him. I was surprised by how helpless I was and how easily he pulled my entire weight until I was right up against him. He cuddled up next to me just like he had on the night he'd come in from the cold. So much for just warming up. I decided not to think about it too hard and fell asleep happy, for the moment, in his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning when I woke up, he was still sleeping, his arm still tightly wrapped around me. I tried to get up, but couldn't. Even when he was asleep, I was still helpless to escape his grasp. I struggled against him, trying to get loose, for a long time, and then he woke up.

"Going somewhere, Amber?" he asked.

"I have a class at eleven," I told him. He chuckled and resettled himself into the blankets, pulling me even closer. "No," I said, "I mean it. Let me go, I have to get ready or I'll be late." He turned me over so I was facing him and examined me with one half-open, sleepy eye.

"Why do you want to go to class?" he asked.

"I like school, and I already paid tuition so I might as well," I told him. He smiled in a lazy way, opening both of his eyes and squinting even though light in the room was minimal.

"The idea of bringing you here was so I could protect you all the time, remember? I can't follow you into class," he said. I tried to get loose again and he laughed at me. I went limp again and sighed, defeated.

"Please let me go," I said.

"You have to ask nicely," he said.

"I already did."

"Nicer."

I glared at him for a minute, frustrated. It almost wasn't worth the trouble at this point, but I didn't want to just give up. "Pretty please with sugar on top?" I asked.

"You're going to have to do better than that," he said. It occurred to me that he probably had no intention of letting me go and was just enjoying making me frustrated. Suddenly, looking at his sleeping smile, I was overwhelmed with my affection for him. I pulled closer to him and kissed him on the cheek. He gave me a smug smile and said, "There ya go." He released me from his grip and rolled over onto his stomach.

I was shocked, by myself and by his reaction. That I had dared to kiss him surprised me, but his satisfied response surprised me even more. I lay still in the bed, frozen. Then I slowly got up and got ready for class. Once there I had a hard time focusing, even though the subject matter interested me. All I could think about was the look that had been on his face. A self-assured smile completely unlike his signature that seemed to prove that he'd known all along how I felt. Was it possible he had feelings for me as well, or was he just toying with me? I thought of him and Harley Quinn. If she was really gone, he was likely looking for a replacement. He wanted someone who would be mindlessly devoted to him and obey his every action. I'd tried so hard to convince myself I wasn't like her, but then I thought about how desperately I'd tried to gain his attention and how quickly he had convinced me to live with him.

By the time I returned, I was sure that he was looking for another bimbo who would dye her hair blonde and play sidekick, and I wasn't pleased. My frustration seemed to overpower my logic, I forgot who I was dealing with, and I entered his little grotto in a foul temper. The front door banged shut. I pounded across the kitchen, slammed the door to the basement, and thumped my way down the stairs. I was all set to give him a piece of my mind, and then I caught sight of his clothes which were scattered across the bedroom floor, splattered in blood. He wasn't there.

"I'm upstairs, darling," I heard him call out. I ran back up the stairs and found him in the bathtub. I had forgotten my anger and rushed to his side and kneeling beside the tub.

"Are you hurt?" I asked.

He laughed and said, "No, I'm fine. You worry too much."

"But the blood," I said. The water in the bathtub was pink, but he was just laughing at me again. If he wasn't hurt, who was? "Did you kill someone?" I asked.

"Probably," he said with a shrug.

"Who?" I asked.

"What does it matter? Some idiot cop. They're all the same," he said. He splashed around in the water a little and said, "Be a dear and hand me that towel." I felt sick to my stomach. Instead of fetching the towel for him I just got up and left the room. I went into the bedroom and sat cross-legged on the ground. I began putting on my face paint. When he came back in he kicked me in the back, not hard enough to knock me over but enough to hurt. "That was rude," he said, "All you had to do was hand me something."

"I'm not your slave. You got it alright," I snarled. I finished my makeup and grabbed a hair tie, pulling my hair into a messy ponytail. Before I could stand, I felt a knife against my throat.

"You'll do as I say, little girl," he said.

"Or what, you'll kill me? If you want me dead, do it. I'm not going to be your little plaything like Harley Quinn," I said. The knife lifted away and I thought maybe he was done, but as I stood up he circled around to stand in front of me and he slapped me, sending me back to the ground.

"You don't know anything about my Harley," he growled. I stood back up and stared him in the face. Then I turned around and headed for the door. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Out, not that it's any of your fucking business," I said. I slammed the door behind me but he followed me upstairs and into the kitchen, grabbing me by the wrist. We stood frozen as we stared at each other with two pairs of eyes on fire.

"Your makeup is messed up," he said.

"Gee, I wonder why. You only slapped it right off," I said. I pulled at my wrist but he wasn't letting up. I noticed for the first time that he was still only wearing a towel tied around his waist. Despite myself I felt myself weaken, but then I finally asked the question that had been nagging me. "Did she just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time or did you plan for her to go up with the hospital?" I demanded.

"She isn't dead," he whispered.

"Then go live with her. Why are you playing games with me if she's still alive?" I asked.

"I guess I was wrong about you," he said. He let go of my wrist and stormed back downstairs. I followed, furious.

"What the hell was that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"I thought you were going out," he muttered. He was face down on the bed. I sat down next to him and tentatively reached out and stroked his hair.

"What did you mean, you were wrong about me?" I said.

"You're supposed to be different than her, stop acting like you're her goddamn replacement," he muttered. He reached up and pulled my hand away from his head, holding it in his hand. Then he rolled onto his side and looked at me. "I guess I should explain," he admitted.


	7. Chapter 7

He sat up in bed and began, "When I broke Dr. Harleen Quinzel, and I do admit that was my intention, I expected her to turn out very differently. I meant to drive her insane, but I imagined a high-functioning form of insanity. I thought if someone highly intelligent was driven insane the result would be, well, hehehe, more like me. But because her insanity came from loving me, that was all she became capable of. She didn't reach the conclusion that my points were valid and then fall in love with me. Just the opposite. She became obsessed with being with me and she would do whatever it took to stay with me, so she followed along with my schemes. There was no thought involved. She seemed to lose all capability of rational thought because her obsession with me clouded it."

"So because your experiment failed, you've abandoned her," I said.

"It's not that simple, don't interrupt," he said, "Her lack of logic put her in harm's way, over and over again, but she tried very hard to keep helping me because she was desperate for my affection and she would do anything to earn it. For a long time I let myself believe that she was making a choice, that she knew the risks involved in what she was doing and chose to be with me. After the Gotham General explosion, though, there was no fooling myself anymore. She knew where the explosives were. She had set some of them herself. But when I told her the job was done and it was time to leave, she walked right towards them. When I tried to stop her she just said, "There's a door right over here, Mr. J." I'd already started the timer and there was no survival that way. So I just picked her up and slung her over my shoulder. She'd been hurt before, but I'd always assumed she was just klutzy. What she did in the hospital, though, showed me that she has no common sense left." He ran his fingers through his hair and fell silent, as if he was done speaking.

"So what did you do?" I asked, "Where is she?"

He gave a weak smile and said, "In the care of one Jonathon Crane."

I stared at him for a minute, failing to comprehend. Then I clarified, "You left her with the Scarecrow?" He nodded. I punched him in the arm, "What on Earth did you do that for? She was probably safer with you!"

"You don't understand. Crane isn't insane. He does things that normal people don't comprehend, but he's saner than I am, and you think I'm okay. He's a psychologist. He knew Harleen when they both worked at Arkham, so he knows her for who she was before she met me, and he knows about the unique tribulations she's gone through. If anyone can cure her, it's him."

"You could have just turned her over to Arkham Asylum if you wanted her cured," I said.

He gave me a serious look and asked, "Do you think they care about curing people at the asylum?"

"Yes," I said, "That's their job."

"No. There you go being naïve again. Their job is to figure out what's wrong with us and then keep up locked up. As far as most of Gotham is concerned, if they cured someone criminally insane, they would just be a sane criminal. Most of the people who get locked up in that asylum aren't insane at all, but the general populace wants to think that they are because they can't face the truth. If sane people did the things people like Crane and I do, then they would have to face the fact that the potential for that violence and cruelty lies in every one of them. They don't like to think that."

"Maybe it doesn't," I said.

"Yes it does. I would know better than you," he said.

"No. You know the underbelly, the criminals that you associate with, that's not a good sample of society. There are plenty of good people in the world who would be incapable of the things you do," I insisted.

"Are you saying I'm not a good person, Amber?" he asked with a smile. His eyes had a dangerous glint to them and I thought hard about his question.

"No, I'm not. I think you understand the way the world works, and you don't like it, so you try to just laugh it off and go with the flow," I said, "I think if the world had treated you better maybe you wouldn't be so bitter and so violent, but I think you're just as sane as I am and just as good of a person."

"Even though I kill people?" he asked with a grin.

"I don't think death is that bad. I believe in an afterlife," I said.

"Am I going to hell, Amber?" he asked.

"Not like that. One place for everyone," I said.

"So I'm a good person even though I kill people. Am I a good person even when I torture people?" he asked.

"Pain is temporary. Why am I being interrogated?" I asked.

He laughed and said, "How was class?"

"You didn't answer my question," I said. I glared at him playfully and poked him in the arm.

"I'm not used to telling people about myself. I want to focus on you now," he said, "I hate talking about myself. They make me do that enough in Arkham Asylum without you joining in." He lied back down and stared up at the ceiling. I realized that he was still wearing only a towel.

"Don't you think you should put some clothes on?" I asked him.

"I think it would be better if you took some clothes off," he said. I stared at him in shock for a minute, trying to figure out if he was joking. Then he started cracking up and I laughed along nervously. He stopped laughing and looked at me with something like concern, "Hey," he said, "I'm not like that. I wouldn't force you to…"

"I know," I said.

"Okay," he said, "I'm going to get dressed now. Close your eyes, if you want. I don't really care." He grinned at me and stood up. I covered my eyes and waited.


	8. Chapter 8

[[To those of you who have this on Story Alert, I'm sorry it's been forever and a half, my loves. I lost inspiration for a while. You see, there's someone in my real life who very much reminds me of the Joker, my muse so to speak, and I spent some time trying to distance myself from him. I've moved away now, so I don't have to try to distance myself anymore, it's just the way things are. So it's easier for me emotionally to deal with the part of my heart where he will always live. Does that make sense? Anyway, you aren't here for my life story. Here comes the next chapter.]]

I didn't peek like he had when I changed, although I had a feeling he expected me to.

"I'm dressed now," he said, his voice amused. I looked quickly and recovered my face in case he was lying, but he wasn't. I lowered my hands again and he laughed at my caution.

"Should I be insulted that you're so unwilling to admire my physique?" he joked. I laughed and shook my head. I got up from the bed and pulled my mirror back out from my bag to fix my still smeared makeup. "Why did I slap you?" he asked.

"I don't remember," I said with a shrug.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No, don't be. I know who you are and how you operate. I knew what to expect when I got into this," I told him with a smile.

"In a way, that's even worse than if you didn't understand," he said. I just smiled at him again and finished up. "Will you tell me where you're going this time, or are you still mad at me?" he asked.

"I have a dove to meet up with. One who's been coming back over and over again," I explained.

"Well, that's what you're doing. I asked where you were going," he said.

"I'll meet him on the corner of G Street and Belmar. Why do you ask?" I said.

"That's solidly in The Narrows, so you'd most likely be safe from Batman but not the criminal element. I'm not sure how I feel about you going out alone," he told me.

"I am one of the criminal element now," I reminded him.

"You know the saying, 'Honor among thieves?'" he asked me.

"Yes, of course," I responded.

"There's no such thing. If the mafia sees you they won't recognize you because you aren't established well enough. They'll beat you up and take anything you have on you at best, likewise with added sexual assault at worst. That's not even considering the possibility that you'll meet another criminal like me or Crane. For instance, Poison Ivy is out of Arkham right now. Do you think you could defend yourself from her?" he said. Suddenly doubtful, I shrugged and looked away. "I'm going with you," he said.

"Your hair is wet. You'll catch a cold," I warned him.

"Are we really going through this again, Amber? What is it with you and me getting ill? I'll be fine," he assured me.

"Alright, fine," I grumbled, "but don't interfere with my work. You will hide and watch unless I am under direct attack. Understood?"

He started laughing, the volume amplified by the small room. "Yes, ma'am," he said. He followed me as I crept out into the darkness. After walking a few blocks I glanced back and was satisfied to find he was not visible. I found my dove exactly where we had agreed to meet, waiting for me.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," he said. I didn't doubt that he spoke the truth, but his voice carried no tone of concern or worry. I had discovered his name was Robert one night by demanding to see his wallet. He'd handed it over without question, not so much in a way that seemed trusting. It had seemed more like he simply didn't care. I'd thoroughly examined everything in it, including his driver's license and his student I.D. I didn't think I'd ever seen him around campus before, but it was a large school.

"I was unavoidably detained, I apologize," I told him, "What did you bring me, my dove?" He casually reached into his pocket and tugged out a pearl necklace, which he dropped into my outreached palm. "Very clever," I said, and thinking of the Joker's advice about being more visible I continued, "I think I shall decorate a statue in the park with these beautiful pearls. What do you think, my dear?" He gave a brief nod.

"Excellent," he remarked. His voice was void of emotion.

"I can never tell what you think of me," I teased him, "Do you love or hate your muse?"

His response, with no hesitation, was, "Both." I laughed and backed away, receding into the shadows. When I was sure he could no longer see me I watched him staring into the shadows for a moment, beyond where I was, then turning and walking away.

A voice in my ear caught me by surprise, "Are we done now?" I jumped and the Joker placed reassuring hands on my shoulders. "It's just me. You should be more aware of your surroundings, Amber. That's why I don't feel comfortable with you leaving the house by yourself."

"I know," I agreed, "but I'm not done. I have to go place the necklace." I turned around to face him.

"Ah. Did you purposely choose the park the draw a connection between us?" he asked. His hands slipped from my shoulders in a careless way, and I missed them immediately.

"No. Why would it?" I said.

"Don't you remember? My last venture was in the park. I rigged the carousel," he reminded me.

"Oh, of course. No, I hadn't thought of it. Do you think the public is that smart?" I said.

"No, but they might pick it up subconsciously," he suggested. I chuckled. His face twisted into a smile, but his eyes were a question.

"Perhaps, Mr. Freud. I thought Crane was the psychologist," I joked. He laughed and took my hand in his as he started walking forward. Suddenly, he froze and looked up, just in time to catch the source of a flash of light. He released my hand and darted into the shadows, the knife I did not know he had with him snapping open. He drug Robert back out into the streetlight so I could see him, knife to his throat. The look on Robert's face as he looked at me seemed more like resentment than fear or pleading. I sighed. "Don't hurt him," I said.

"What did you hear?" the Joker asked Robert.

"Nothing," Robert spat, "I heard nothing. I saw enough."

"Enlighten us," growled the Joker, "What did you see exactly?"

"The Queen of Diamonds is aligned with the Clown Prince of Crime," he said. His face was blank again, all emotion draining away, "Will you kill me now? Are you that ashamed to be connected to her?" That was a mistake. The Joker threw him to the ground and kicked him in the ribs. Once, twice.

"You'll break something. Leave him be," I said, but the Joker didn't seem to hear me. Desperate to get his attention, I remembered his laughter in the dorm room, what seemed like so long ago. "Jack," I said. His attention shifted to me immediately, his eyes still dangerous. "Let him go," I demanded.

"Or what?" he asked, coming towards me with the knife. His face came close to mine, knife held aloft, in a typical threatening pose I'd seen again and again in pictures and video segments on the news and in the paper.

He was close enough for me to whisper, "Or nothing. You said that I was in danger from the criminal element because they wouldn't recognize me, and it's been a while since your last appearance. Let him take the picture to the press. Let Gotham see my face, and show them I have a powerful mentor." Reason was restored to his eyes and he appeared to mull over this, knife slowly lowering. He stood like a statue and gestured at Robert.

I walked over to Robert and saw that he was still breathing, even conscious. He made an effort to sit up and I helped him. "I'm sorry," I whispered. His face revealed neither forgiveness nor condemnation. "Why did you take the picture?" I asked him.

"I'm a journalism major," he said, "I decided it would make good news."

"That's lucky for both of us, my dove. Go make your good news. How soon can you have the story in the paper?" I asked.

"When I bring this article in, they'll get right on it. Two days at most," he said.

"Three nights from now, here, you will come for another assignment," I told him. He nodded and moved to stand up. I helped him, but he didn't acknowledge it. He limped down the street until I could no longer see him.


	9. Chapter 9

[[ Once again, sorry I'm taking so damn long to make progress. The "real world" keeps interfering. Oh, also, I'm retconning Artie's name. He's Robert now.]]

Once he was gone, I turned around to look for the Joker, but he had vanished. Had he left without me? That didn't seem like him and yet I couldn't help but worry that he had. It was a long walk to the park so I started that way immediately. If the Joker was watching me, I was sure he would follow. I didn't see anyone on the streets as I walked, although I did pass a few seedy looking bars which were still full of life.

I'd never been a huge fan of the park, not even as a kid. The carousel had been the best part and now it was blown up. I made a mental note to check it out when I was done placing the necklace. I went to the statue on the east side of the park memorializing Martha and Thomas Wayne, a wealthy couple who'd been the victims of a mugging before I was born. As a child the statue had always disturbed me, the couple's stony eyes casting their judgment on all who walked past.

I climbed up on the pedestal and considered for a moment. I'd been planning on giving Martha the pearls, but that seemed too respectful, almost like a tribute. I draped them around the neck of Dr. Thomas Wayne with a chuckle.

"Are you sure that's wise?" someone said. I jumped and noticed the Joker leaning against a tree nearby.

"That's not the kind of question I'd expect from you," I said.

"Their son, Bruce Wayne, is a powerful man in Gotham," he advised. I laughed.

"That spoiled brat? He's a powerful incentive to avoid becoming rich, apparently it turns your brain to mush," I joked.

"That's the mask. You trust me, don't you?" Joker asked.

"Of course," I told him.

"Choose a different statue," he said. I sighed and took the pearls back, climbing down from the pedestal and sitting in the grass as I mulled it over.

"Any suggestions?" I asked.

"I thought you wanted to run your own show," he said with a smile.

"It doesn't matter anymore. Now that Robert is taking that picture to the press, people will assume that my every act is your command. That's what they did with Harley Quinn," I pointed out.

"Is that what you want? For people to think you belong to me?" he asked, walking towards me. The way he moved was almost predatory, and there was something different about his eyes.

"I…"

"Do you want me to order you around? Is that what you imagined, when you were putting together your little notebook?" he asked, drawing close behind me. He wrapped his arm around my waist and tucked his chin against my neck to whisper, "The Joker's…little…pet?"

"No, I…" Despite my protests, there was no way he could ignore the way I was reacting. His words caused me to shiver and I felt myself pressing back into him. Despite the way my brain was fogging over, I forced myself to say, "I never imagined meeting you." He pulled away suddenly and grinned at me.

"You could put them on the statue of Harvey Dent," he suggested. Caught off guard by his sudden withdrawal and his bizarre suggestion, I simply stared at him. "Whaat? Cat got your tongue?"

"Shouldn't I try to stay on good terms with Two-Face?" I asked. He started cracking up

"Amber, babe," he said, "Two-Face has a good side and a bad side, but nothing you do can change which side of the coin you get. The other people in our little Rogue's Gallery will appreciate the bold move and that way, when your picture gets out, there'll be no doubt in their minds that I'm really standing beside you."

"Are you sure?" I asked nervously.

"Of course. Who besides me, in aaaall of Gotham, would be crazy enough to insult Two-Face?" he asked.

"No one," I said.

"Exactly," said the Joker, "Least of all a beginner like yourself. They'll assume I must be behind it, but it will obviously be your crime, and so they'll have to see the connection. It's perfect."

"Okay," I said with a smile. As I turned away and started walking to the statue, I couldn't help but wonder what had made him get so close to me, and why he had pulled away. I couldn't forget the way he'd looked at me as he came towards me. I'd seen his violent side before, but this was something different, and if it had come from imagining me as a mere pet, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. Of course I desired him, there was no way I could deny that at this point, but I didn't want it to be that way. I had lied when I'd said I never imagined meeting him. I had just imaged us as equals, the way lovers should be.

Before I knew it we were there and I was scrambling up onto the platform.

"That dress isn't good for climbing, and you'd be useless fighting in it. We need to get you a better outfit," the Joker commented.

"Mommy's busy, honey, let's talk about fashion later," I said, putting the necklace around the statue's neck. I stopped for a moment and admired the statue itself. It was a good likeness of Two Face while he has still been Gotham's White Knight. The city had never been the same since the Joker had driven him mad. Unlike the Joker, I truly believed that Harvey Dent had lost his mind. What else could explain how radically different he was than the man he used to be?

I suddenly realized how quiet the Joker was being and looked up, but I didn't see him. Then I noticed him standing at the foot of the pedestal, looking up my skirt. With a shriek I kicked him in the face and jumped off the pedestal, running around to the other side and then sprinting away through the park.

"Amber!" he yelled. I looked back to see that he wasn't following me. He didn't look angry either. That must have been one lousy, weak kick."What was that for?" he demanded.

"I don't have to talk to you about this, you know what it was for," I yelled back.

"It's not like I saw anything, that dress is way too long. I was just admiring your legs," he said with a grin, "Come back." I turned my back on him and walked away. For a second I considered going straight back to my dorm, but then I remembered I was still in costume. I headed for the Joker's home. I tried not to jump when he suddenly appeared beside me and was unnerved by how silently he'd managed to catch up. "I watched you changing and you didn't freak out, and now you're not talking to me?" he asked.

"Shut up," I said. He stopped trying to keep up. I didn't look around to see if he was still following me. When I got back to the house I went into the bathroom to wash of my face paint. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him watching me in the mirror.

"I'm sorry," he said. I looked at his reflection and couldn't tell if he was being genuine, but at least we wasn't smiling, and an apology from the Joker was probably extremely rare.

"Okay," I said. I pushed past him and went into the room to grab a few blankets from the floor.

"What are you doing with those?" he asked.

"I'm sleeping in the kitchen," I informed him. I grabbed my pajamas and after I set up a makeshift bed in the kitchen I went into the bathroom to change. I didn't see him come upstairs, but when I got back into the kitchen there was a scruffy teddy bear and a pillow by my little nest. I got as comfortable as I could on the linoleum and fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

I woke up with my arms wrapped tightly around myself and the little teddy bear the Joker had left for me. My back hurt, my neck hurt, and I swore off sleeping on the floor ever again. I needed to find or steal myself a mattress so I wouldn't have to share the Joker's bed anymore. I wasn't sure what had given him the impression that our developing "relationship" had given him the right to look at me like a piece of meat, but I wasn't going to put up with it. I wasn't stupid. I knew, of course, that I had to stay in his home. I was no longer safe by myself; that boat had sailed. However, that didn't mean that I had to sleep in his arms. As I sat up and looked out the window, bleary-eyed, at the morning light streaming through the grimy kitchen window, I realized that if I wanted to get to class I would have to go back down to the bedroom to fetch some clothes.

I didn't turn on the light and felt my way carefully down the stairs, trying to remember where the squeaky places were so I could avoid them. When I got to the foot of the stairs I was startled and almost lost my balance. The Joker was sitting on the edge of the pile of blankets that was his bed, and looking through the darkness straight at me. Shadows played on his face as the very faint light glinted off his eyes. I looked back down and started squinting to look for my clothes in the darkness.

"I didn't sleep," he informed me.

"Well you can take a nap now. You can sleep all day if you want to. I have to get to class," I said.

"Are we going to talk about this?" he asked.

"I think I made a pretty clear point and you already apologized. There isn't really anything else to discuss," I told him. I got down on my hands and knees to scramble around for a shirt. Why hadn't I put my things back in my bag? Suddenly the light clicked on, almost blinding me. I turned around to see him standing by the light switch.

"You look funny," he said with a smile. I smiled back and grabbed a t-shirt and jeans, now easily distinguishable among the blankets and rugs.

"After class I want to go out looking for a mattress. Where would you suggest I start?" I asked him. He looked hurt.

"Another abandoned place nearby where I used to live. I'll get it for you," he said.

"Okay," I said, smiling again, "Thanks." I stood up and stood there in silence for a few seconds. I set my clothes back down and I approached him, tentatively reaching out for a hug. He wrapped his arms around me and enveloped me in his warmth. I hadn't realized how cold the kitchen had been.

"Be safe," he said, "and hurry back."

"Gotta shower first," I said with a laugh. I picked up my clothes and went back upstairs. After I got out of the shower and dressed I went back down to say goodbye, but he was passed out asleep on his bed. I smiled, turned the light off, and left for class.

I saw Robert on my way there. The way he was walking, I could tell he was still sore. I wondered if he had bothered to go to the hospital and, if he had, what excuse he had given them for his injuries. I wanted to say hello to him, not as his Queen of Diamonds, but as Amber. I couldn't though. I'd never known him as Amber, and I had a creeping feeling he would recognize me.

After class, I hurried back to my new home. I didn't regret the way I had acted, but I was anxious to make things right between the Joker and I again, and hoped that he was interested in the kind of relationship in which he could show me respect. But then again, who was I kidding? He hadn't signed up for another romantic partner, just a partner in crime, someone to understand and support him. Maybe I was okay with that.

When I got back, true to his word, the Joker had retrieved a mattress for me. He had placed it in the middle of the bedroom and stacked several blankets neatly on the foot of my new bed. The pillow and teddy bear from the night before sat perched at the other side. He was fast asleep on his lump of blankets again. I couldn't help but feel a little bit guilty about his sleepless night and wondered what exactly he'd been pondering for so long. I sat on the bed and pulled out my lecture notes to study for a test. To make it less boring, I set the teddy bear down in my lap and pretended to explain the material to him. I went over everything I thought I'd need to know until I was sure I had it down. Then I looked up and saw a very amused looking Joker sitting cross-legged on the floor watching me.

"Did you know you were talking to the teddy bear?" he said with a grin.

"Out loud?" I asked, cringing. He nodded.

"It was very fascinating. I didn't know your teddy bear was studying biology. What's his name?" the Joker asked.

"Oh, I don't know yet. Maybe I'll name him Jack!" I said with a laugh.

"No," said the Joker.

"No?" I asked, "Why not?"

"If you wanted to cuddle with someone named Jack you should've…" he cut off and got up, then stormed across the room.

"Should have what?" I whispered.

"Nothing," he snapped, "Jack's a horrible name for a teddy bear. Why doncha name it Robert?"

"Oh my god," I said, "Joker, you're not _jealous_, are you?"

"Shut up," he said, glaring at me. I got up and put Jack the teddy bear on the bed, and then walked over to Joker. I reached up to touch his face and got slapped so hard I fell to the ground. "Don't touch me," he growled.

I got back to my feet and said, "So what do you want, a submissive little slave? Is that what you want?"

He looked taken aback and said, "You have some nerve talking to me like that."

"What are you going to do, kill me? Slap me around some more? Is that why you want me to listen to you, because I'm afraid you'll hurt me if I don't?" I demanded, "Well I'm not afraid of you. Do whatever the fuck you want, I'm not going to be your little plaything, and I'm not sacrificing my self-respect so I can beg and plead for your forgiveness every time I piss you off." He pulled out a knife and came at me, putting it up to my neck, but I didn't flinch. "Do it!" I screamed.

He put the knife down and said, "Name the fucking teddy bear Jack if you want to." He sat down on his bed again.

"I will," I said.

"Is biology your major?" he asked.

"No, my major is engineering," I said.

"What do you want to be when you grow up, Joyce?" he asked. I started laughing.

"Let's blow something up," I suggested.

"What?" he asked.

"Let's blow up something really big," I said.

"My last two gigs have both been explosions," he said," No."

I sighed. "Fine, let's do something. I want to get out of the house tonight, with you."

"We should lie low until Robert's story hits the stands," the Joker suggested. I pouted at him. "Okay, we can do something little," he said with a glint in his eye, "We could mug someone or something?"

"Let's commandeer a bus," I suggested.

"Hmm? Like a school bus? I've done that this year already," he objected.

"A cab?" I asked.

"Too clichéd. Car jacking, really? Besides, you don't even have a good outfit yet. Oh, of course! Your outfit! We need to do that anyway. I'd say it's time for you to meet my tailor!" he said with a grin.

"You have …tailor?" I asked with a laugh.

"Sure! Where do you think I get all of my classy duds, Walmart? He's a real nice guy. Name is Frank," he said.

"Frank as in Franklin?" I asked.

"Frank as in Frank," he corrected me.

"I'm calling him Franklin," I announced.

"Fine. Put on your makeup and your ratty old dress and let's go," he said. I got ready in a hurry and when I'd come back out, he'd slicked his hair back for the occasion.

"How do I look?" I asked.

"Horrible. Let's go fix it," he said. He stuck out his elbow and I wrapped my arm through his.

"Oh, will you escort me? What a gentleman!" I said with a laugh. We slunk into the night, hardly noticed on the quiet street where most of the lights were already out. "So your neighbors have no idea we're here? I mean, you think they'd notice," I said.

"Our neighbors," he corrected, "and if you noticed the Joker slinking around, would you investigate or close the blinds?"

"Well, I might not be the best person to ask here, but I get your point," I said with a smile.

"Your face is red," he pointed out.

"Yea, I tried to cover it up with makeup the best that I could, but that's probably going to bruise," I said.

"What is?" he asked innocently.

"You slapped me again," I reminded him.

"Oh," he said. We walked in silence for a few seconds before he asked, "Why?"

"I'm not sure exactly. Maybe because I wanted to name the teddy bear Jack?" I suggested.

"I don't think that would be it," he said.

"That's your name isn't it?" I asked.

"Yes," he told me, "Jack Napier. But don't tell anyone that, obviously."

"I won't. Can I call you Jack?" I asked.

"Not in public," he said.

"So I can in private?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because you're not in my bed anymore," he said. When I looked shocked he asked, "What?"

"That was blunt," I remarked.

"Maybe so," he admitted. A streetlamp flickered.

"Are we almost there?" I asked.

"Patience, Amber," he said.

"No, you can't call me that anymore," I said.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"You're not in my bed either," I said. He laughed, and it echoed around the empty street. "Where the hell are we going? All these houses look abandoned."

"We're going to Frank's house," he said.

"I know that. Where is Frank's house?" I said.

"Where we're going," he said.

"Careful, you're starting to sound Riddler-esque," I said. He hissed at me.

"No, that's Cat Woman," I joked.

"Very funny," he said.

"I thought so," I told him.

"We're here," he said. The light was on in a second story window. This house was just as dilapidated as the Joker's, and yet somehow less friendly.

"Is he expecting us?" I asked.

"No, he's always up late," the Joker said, "That's how we met." We climbed the porch steps and the Joker knocked, then opened the door. He released my arm and headed up the stairs, and I had no choice but to follow. Frank was far less intimidating than his house was. He was fat, middle aged, and comfortably settled in his armchair reading a book. "Frank, I'd like you to meet a friend. This is Queenie." Frank looked up at me.

"Oh, of course, you're the Queen of Diamonds. I had a hunch you two would know each other," he said, "Welcome. What may I do for you?"

"My friend needs a new outfit. Actually, she needs a whole wardrobe. This old dress is all she ever wears," said the Joker. Frank stood up and set his book down on a side table. He started circling me, and I felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

"Do you want to stay in dresses?" he asked me.

I remembered what the Joker had said about climbing and running and said, "No, I need to be able to move."

"Well, of course," said Frank, "You're an associate of the Joker's, I assumed as much. I can make dresses you can move in. Or more accurately, bodysuits that appear to be dresses. Leave the technical to me; just tell me what you're looking for aesthetically."

"I hadn't given it a lot of thought, honestly," I said nervously. He stopped walking in circles and looked at my face.

"Walk me through how you decided to do your makeup this way," he said. I glanced at the Joker, knowing I would have to fudge the details a little to avoid embarrassing myself.

"Well I wanted it to be obvious that I was connected to the Joker, but I didn't want to be the female version of him. So I went with the white the match his skin tone and used one of his colors, purple, for the eyes. For my symbol I went to the card deck and since diamonds are red that's the other color I was working with, but I ended up doing just the diamond on my cheek in red," I explained.

"Why don't you wear lipstick?" he asked. I didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound pathetic.

"I don't need to draw attention to my lips," I said awkwardly.

"You not wearing lipstick is what does that. People are programmed to expect a tone change at the lips so that's directly where the eye is drawn when they see you," he told me, "Alright, I know what I need to. Come back in a few days for the first outfit and I'll keep going until you stop me."

"Thanks Frank," said the Joker, "Come on Queenie. Let's go home."


End file.
